


Reunions

by ladykarasu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Allusions to death, Everybody lives - for now, Jim Moriarty is not right, Most effed up job interview ever, There is no amount of hazard pay worth working for Jim, Well maybe not the peon, allusions to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykarasu/pseuds/ladykarasu
Summary: Sebastian is having a bad day.  A bad stretch of days, really, but he's not sure how long he's been here anymore.  Those are the risks you take in the business, and clearly he pissed off someone big.  He also caught their eye...





	Reunions

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to see if I could get myself to write anything the other night, because it's been waaaaay too long, and of course the little blurb of dark!fic idea sitting in my 'bits and bobs' file is the one that calls to me. I had a couple strong impressions of things that needed to happen, but otherwise, I have no control over what Jim does. I'm just kind of along for the ride. So is Seb.

Aching deeply and bleeding only slightly less so, Sebastian endeavored to conserve his energy. The chair he’d been bound to wasn’t exactly comfortable, but was no torture in itself; _that_ they’d chosen a professional for. At least, someone who was being paid to do it – the few he’d met in that specific line of work had a different air to them – this man only seemed detached and methodical, as if he were working from an outline. It could be worse, he supposed.

His return to London had been lackluster at best. Military career gone in _just enough_ suspicion to tarnish what should have been a shining reputation – sod it all, but the family name had that to be maintained, however he felt about the old man – and no prospects of any worth upon his arrival in the city. Every door should have been open to him, people of import bending over backwards to have him; would have, under any other circumstances.

Damn loose ends, anyway.

Moran still had his skills, however – a rank wasn’t necessary to use them – and there would always be a market for them. The risks, however…

He supposed, in a distant sort of way, this was as good a solution as any.

It would be slightly less insulting if they were actually trying to get any kind of information out of him, though; it seemed like the beatings were the point in and of themselves. The man would enter and start in on him until he was satisfied with… something – once it was a cracked rib, once it was a groan he couldn’t quite stop from ending in something too close to a whimper, and once it was a bloody nose for fuck’s sake. It never seemed to have any rhyme or reason, but when whatever it was happened, the man would just stop and leave without further acknowledgment. Fuck, he must have pissed off someone big. At this point he just kinda wished they’d put a bullet in him and be done with it.

He’d stopped trying to expect anything and just focused on enduring it. He deserved it, really. Not - as a more virtuous person might suggest - for his sins, but rather because he’d gone and gotten sloppy. Must have, though he’s still not entirely sure where he slipped up. Dumb luck didn’t happen as often as people would like to believe, so he was willing to accept he had probably missed something and he was pragmatic enough to recognize this might have been in his future at some point before he picked up his rifle again, anyway.

He had rather hoped it would be further down the line, though.

The door opened again, and he didn’t try to stop the sigh; didn’t try too hard to straighten up, either, just leaning back enough to watch what would come next. He was past appearances.

Not as long a reprieve as last time, then. He thought, anyway; he was getting a bit fuzzy on the details with time. It might have been a couple days, now – could have been longer – he’d been knocked out pretty hard once or twice, already.

In swanned the source of his current hell – small case in hand, and precisely arranged on the side table. He didn’t open it this time, though, just glanced at Sebastian and waited, looking back to the door as if expecting something.

That… couldn’t be good.

Well, nothing that came his way at this point would be ‘good’, but it had a very real possibility of being a lower level of bad. Or just final. He thought he’d be okay with final about now.

The wait went on just long enough for the other man to start shifting uneasily – ha! He’d take the small victory, there – and another man ambled in. And ambled was a good word for it – he moved leisurely, seemingly unconcerned and unhurried – an unusual way to arrive at a torture session, but hey, to each his own.

Seb blinked, trying to focus, to clear his eyes, because something else was odd – not just the manner, but… _the fuck_?!

Moriarty. _Jimmy_ fucking _Moriarty_. The scrawny kid he picked up in school, kept half an eye after in Uni. Well hell, he hadn’t seen this future coming for Jim, although the irony of it was not lost on him, now. How did the saying go – no good deed goes unpunished? Good thing he hadn’t done more of them, then.

It was the thing that finally cracked his mask. Sebastian had been pretty stoic since his capture, knowing how it was going to end, just wondering how long it would take. What a vicious beating and some creative threats hadn’t managed in hours, or days, seeing an unexpected school-mate walk through the door did in seconds. He knew his eyes had lit up with surprised recognition at the other man’s unexpected presence, he couldn’t help that; while he was past expectations, a sufficiently absurd surprise could apparently still pull a reaction, however minute. Still, he schooled his features back to neutral, didn’t call a greeting or question his presence; a shock he could forgive himself, an errant response he couldn’t. All he needed to know was apparent, already, anyway.

Besides, things couldn’t get much worse for him; without intel, he couldn’t know if they could get worse for Jimmy. The curiosity wasn’t worth prodding for no gain.

His head _did_ track Jim’s movements, though, shifting gingerly to follow as the other man paced the perimeter of the room before coming to stop in front of him. Casually, Jim flicked his hand toward the other man in waiting, and the case was finally opened – a bottle of high proof alcohol pulled from it and prominently displayed on the table. With a deferential glance at Jim, the other man hesitated, then opened the bottle and placed it on the nearest edge of the table before stepping back. Jim paid no mind, eyes remaining on Sebastian.

The shape of this situation shifted in Moran’s head, and the power structure in the room became clearer. Perplexing, but more apparent.

“Sebastian.” It was a greeting, but also held a certain recognition – voice warm, but with a hollow ring to it. Well, that, too, was all he needed to know. Seb took a breath, raised his head a little; didn’t speak.

“You _can_ acknowledge me, Sebby, it certainly won’t hurt _me_.” Jim said it with a light of confidence in his eyes that Sebastian had never seen in them before, queer little smile pulling his lips. _No, it wouldn’t, would it?_ Huffing a small breath, the very corner of his mouth twitched up, breaking the neutral mask. “Jim.” he said, finally, tone measured and weary, but just this side of warm, “Done well for yourself, since I saw you last. Good on you.” Shit, he even meant it.

Jim blinked, tilting his head to study Sebastian, as if he’d just done a particularly interesting trick.

“You do realize I’m going to have to kill you, right?” It was said slowly, but not unkindly, as if trying to clear away an embarrassing misunderstanding before a social faux pas could be continued. It could be mocking, it might not – Jim had always been hard to read – and he was still looking at Sebastian that way – as if he were a particularly intelligent dog, or a potentially interesting microscope slide - watching to see what he’d do next, an aberration to be considered.

Sebastian huffed an ironic laugh, wry grin pulling at split lips. “Hey, let’s not ruin the reunion, yeah? Not every day you get to see the runt you once knew grow up to lead a fuckin’ wolf pack.” There was a spark of genuine pride in the statement; Jimmy was always a clever fuck, but Sebastian hadn’t expected more than an office job for him, some dreary little life full of numbers.

The strange, calculating look lasted a beat more, before Jim shifted – head tilting the other way, maintaining eye contact, hand dipping smoothly into his jacket – and sprayed him in the face with lighter fluid he’d secreted there.

Seb jerked back, eyes wincing shut instinctively when the spray abruptly hit his face, grimacing through it, but made no other reaction as he waited to be covered, soaked in the stuff. It didn’t take long – there was only a brief pause before the small bottle was spent, and he could feel the faster pour of what had to be the spirits – sharp scent of _very flammable_ alcohol enveloping his senses, making every stinging abrasion known - as he was more than less covered.

“Oh, this isn’t going to be pleasant”, he muttered to himself after hissing a breath, shaking his head sharply in an effort to clear the liquid from his eyelashes. He knew where this was going. Your average bloke off the street (one who’d seen too many films) might expect petrol or something, but those types of flammable liquids could be difficult to _light_ ; high proof alcohol was _easy_.

He probably only had seconds, so after a moment he gave up on sight, raised his face blindly in the general direction of Jim’s last known location, asking somewhat dubiously, “Wouldn’t happen to have a bullet for an old friend before you light me up, would you?”

He waited, tense, through the pause, the eventual rustle of fabric that could just as easily produce a lighter as his salvation from it; waited until he heard the familiar rack and release of a slide, then he relaxed. This was an end he was well prepared to handle. He kept his body loose even as his fists clenched in anticipation and he gave one sharp, acknowledging nod and a low, short vocalization in the back of his throat, implying his thanks before he took one deep breath and let it out in a controlled stream; then he waited.

And waited – the pause stretching on longer than was comfortable or kind, but he still wasn’t on fire, so he’d take it – until finally the shot came. The noise was all he knew for a moment, and he jerked with expectation, but there was no pain, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually in shock yet – probably – so there’s should be pain or _nothing_ , depending on where he was hit…

Until he realized he’d also heard a thud – a different body, then – and where the fuck did that leave him? Still blind, all he could do was wait, straining for any sound, any clue, until - finally – the sound of a lighter clicking heralded his fate.

He took a few quick breaths and braced, as much as he was able against what was to come; it was a really shit way to go. He waited – all he could do was wait – until eventually a slow, deliberate breath brought the fresh, familiar scent of cigarette smoke to his face.

“Sorry, that was a bit cruel of me.” The light, lilting voice of Jim was back, accompanied by the sound of a chair being casually dragged nearer; a creak of someone sitting just in front of him. “But it is always a good idea to see how a candidate handles stressors in the workplace before hiring.”

Sebastian swallowed, brows furrowing – bowstring taut and uncertain of anything, let alone if he could finally relax. “A.. what?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” The voice was almost sympathetic. “Sebastian, I believe you are in need of a new employer; your previous has had a rather nasty accident.”

It was nowhere in the voice, but he swore if he could see, there would be smirk on the other man’s face. And that was- that was enough. Jesus, a week or so of torture he survived, and this conversation was going to be the fucking thing to kill him.

“Are you- are you seriously giving me a job interview while I’m set up to go like a roman candle?” Given the fact, he probably should have kept the incredulity from his voice, but Seb was rather past having a usable brain/mouth filter. Perhaps that was the plan. Oh god, he hoped this whole thing hadn’t been the most fuckedup job interview in the world. Please let Jim have seriously intended to kill him 20 minutes ago, please…

After a soft, dark chuckle, Jim says, “well, it’s a much more straightforward answer than your standard rejection letter, wouldn’t you say?”

Significantly faster, too. Alright – that answered whether it was safe to finally relax…

Oh fuck it. He snorted, shaking his head sharply once and relaxing, anyway. He was hired or he was dead, and his back was starting to cramp. His prospects were better than they were an hour ago, in any case; here was an end, finally, however it played out.

“Fine”, he said, resignation creeping into his tired voice, “What do you want to know?”

“Me?” That light, somewhat disconcerting chuckle again, “Oh, I know everything I need to about you – possibly more than you do – I just wanted to see what you’d do.” There was a creak, and then, without warning, a wet cloth was pressed to his face. Seb jumped, instinctively rearing back and holding his breath. Then he remembered his situation and essentially gave up. Forcing his body to relax again, he allowed himself to breathe normally and let whatever would happen, happen.

To his surprise, all he smelled was clean water and cloth. The pressure behind the damp cloth took on methodical strokes, clearing the caustic liquid from around his eyes and nose, before the other man sat again. “My, you’re jumpy. Then again, you’ve had a difficult week…”

Finally able to open his eyes, Sebastian blinked and took in the room before settling on Jim again. A man who was entirely too comfortable for someone sitting less than a meter from the cooling body (of someone who _had_ been beating the shit out of him for the better part of a week).

Oh, what the hell – better than being burned alive.

“Alright, suppose I’m in – what’s the pay?”

A small snort, and yes, there was definitely a smirk on Jim’s face. What the hell had happened since university?

“You mean your life isn’t enough?” he chided gently.

Sebastian blinked, glanced at the body in the room, but didn’t otherwise respond. A beat, then another, and another – finally, Jim smiled more genuinely. “Don’t worry, if I don’t have you killed, you’ll find your compensation perfectly satisfactory.”

_If_. Seb wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what he’d just been hired into, let alone how long he was likely to survive at doing it. For any number of reasons, not the least of which being his apparent new employer.

Jim stood abruptly, adjusting his jacket and smoothing over where Sebastian would eat his bindings if there wasn’t a holstered gun, and moved closer, before pausing and looking briefly contrite. “Ah, mustn’t get close to flammables….” He said lightly, then flicked the recently lit cigarette carelessly over a shoulder before nearing enough to reach his bindings. Instead of releasing Seb, he leaned over, face nearly touching Sebastian’s as he scrutinized the bound man. “Mm, I’ll send someone in to assist you – I don’t think you’re up to moving on your own right now and, unfortunately, you’re covered in alcohol.”

He straitened just as quickly, and started to saunter out of the room as if nothing odd had happened. What the actual fuck had Moran gotten himself into?

“Jim”, was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. The other man stopped and turned back, a vaguely curious and expectant look on his face. Well, he’d already opened his mouth - what the hell, might as well go all in. “You should really keep that chambered all the time”, he offered. It was the only thing he had to give at the moment.

Jim grinned, looking pleased with the choice. “I do. I just wanted to see what you’d do.” And then he was gone.

Most fucked up interview, ever.

But, still alive, so there was that.

**Author's Note:**

> First foray into writing after my unintended hiatus (For some reason, I haven't had much free time since I had my daughter... go figure.) I'm a bit rusty, but trying to get back to it. Very kindly beta'd prodded on by Random_Nexus, of which I needed both. I've probably missed some necessary brit-picking, so forgive me that, and let me know if see something I really should fix. As I said, a bit out of practice, here...


End file.
